Rubble and Ashes
by SarahShalomDavid
Summary: Jennifer Shepard is gone and all that remains of her home is rubble and ashes. The team must mourn their loss and cope with the consequences of her death. Secrets are revealed and nothing will ever be the same again.
1. As Red as Fire

The door was gone, the only remnants were that of broken and charred wood that matched the burnt staircase nearby. The bannister which was once ornate and accurately carved was now nothing but a pile of ashes on the floor of the flame scorched floorboards. The second floor was almost gone, the only evidence of its previous existence was the small ledge left above the first floor and the crumbled pieces of the floor and furniture from the second floor now mixed in with the destroyed bottom floor

Looking at the house you wouldn't have believed that it was once the home of the Director of N.C.I.S; Jennifer Shepard. The house that had once been filled with beautiful furniture and photos was now nothing but a pile of rubble and ashes.

If you were to enter the house, you first would see nothing but the things that used to be, nothing but burnt memories and the life that once was. However if you ventured further into the unstable foundations of the burnt down home of the deceased red headed director then you would find something else entirely, something most unusual.

Behind the broken and charred door of the basement that resided beneath the now unstable wooden staircase was a cold room, dimly lit by a few broken candles that had been placed on the concrete floor. The light flickered around the basement, its light casting shadows across the walls.

On the floor in the corner was a pile of charred clothing, and blankets. Pieces of fabric that used to be something had been thrown together in a neat pile that resembled a bed in the corner of the unsafe basement of the unstable home.

An open can of cold baked beans was sat by the candles with a charred metal spoon stuck out of the top beside it was a lone bean that had fallen out of the can when someone had eaten them.

To the side was an empty bottle of water and some wrappers along with a pair of children's shoes. The shoes looked as though they had been kicked off by a small child and left there.

In the corner upon the pile of scrap fabric was a little girl, her hair was as red as the fire that had taken the home not long ago, and her eyes were a bright shade of blue like the sky had been before it was blurred by the smoke of the fire. Her pale skin was dotted with soft freckles across her face and she wore nothing but pyjamas. Her pyjamas were white with pink ballerinas dotted all over them, she had a coat laying over her to keep her small body warm from the cold that blew in from outside

Her eyes were softly gazing at the flickering of the candles in front of her, she didn't want to blow them out and as she watched them flicker their light across the room she soon fell asleep amongst the pile of fabric scraps.

Outside of the house in a dark government issued vehicle was a silver haired agent who was mourning the woman he loved, he sighed heavily as he found himself at the house on many lonely nights. He simply could not come to terms with the fact that she was gone. She had been gone for one week now. His hand curled into a fist and thumped the steering wheel in frustration, he felt overwhelming guilt about her death, he blamed himself for not being there and for not being able to save her

Sighing he pulled away from the house, and drove to the marina. He couldn't face going home yet, he wouldn't be able to sleep if he did even if he did go home. Sleep was something that seemed to avoid him ever since the death of the red headed director. A bout of insomnia was taking over his nights and refusing to let him get any peace. His head constantly yelled at him. He constantly blamed himself. He constantly found himself wishing he could turn back time and make things different. Maybe if he had stopped her leaving in Paris she would never had been in the danger to begin with. A quiet life with the woman he loved was all that he had wanted. He wished he had married her and moved to away from N.C.I.S. He loved his job but when it came to her? She was his queen. The woman he loved above everyone and everything else.

The little girl inside the basement stirred slightly at the sound of the car engine outside in the dark of night. She glanced around but closed her eyes again and snuggled up with her doll again.

Snow was falling harder and harder, the cold was making the little girl shiver and she lit more candles around her before snuggling further under the pile of rags that she was using as a bed.

Jethro found himself sat on his boat on the marina, looking up at the sky with a bottle of bourbon in his hand and a photo of the red head in his other. He sighed as he whispered to the sky, "I miss you Jen". A single tear fell from his eye, the bright blue depths were starting to flood with emotion that he had not allowed himself to show. Keeping his emotions in check was a way of trying to show strength for the team and to support them. Inside he was struggling. Inside he was in deep pain. A pain that made him feel as though his heart was being repeatedly torn from his chest. Missing her was an understatement. Missing her was the source of daily emotional turmoil.

The water lapped around the boat, the boat was painted white with red roses along the side with the name 'Jen' painted in cursive script. The boat had been only a few weeks ago and he had wanted to take the boat out on the water straight away. Other boats he had sold but this one? This one he planned to keep. He wanted to protect the boat like he hadn't managed to do with the real Jen. The guilt was overwhelming, the emotion was drowning him and the grieving process was hitting him hard. His chest hurt from the breaking heart and his eyes stung from the salty tears.

He didn't want to go back to the house that reminded him of all that was, all that could have been and all that never would be but he knew that he wouldn't be able to stay away. It was one of the few links he had to the woman who would always have his heart.


	2. Like a Rag Doll

The little girl shivered from the cold, she curled into herself more and snuggled down into singed scraps of material that were her only comfort. The material was from the house and had originally been fluffy blankets that Jen had kept in the closet.

As the snow fell in the city, it coated the streets and the rooftops of homes but this home didn't have a roof for it to fall upon so instead it fell within the walls that remained.

Her red hair gave a harsh contrast to the charred wood that surrounded her and her bright blue eyes looked out of the gaps to see the night's sky. For the most part she was covered and the wood gave her enough shelter to hide from the cold white snow but not enough that the cold breeze didn't penetrate through the gaps into her hiding space. The majority of the home had been burnt to ashes but there were some small walls remaining and the little girl had managed to hide in the basement. She had snuck down the stairs, bent down to crawl beneath fallen wood and squeeze through gaps to find a safe place to sleep.

The child had been sleeping in the remains of the home for a few days and she was dirty from the soot and dust, her hair was matted and she was hungry. She couldn't find much food in the house and had the charred can of beans out which she only ate a little of at a time, of course it helped that she didn't particularly like the food item.

Ducky had left flowers at the entrance to the home on the night after he was notified of her death, he had spoken to Jen as if she were there and without realising it had managed to calm the little girl who had woken scared in the home.

Tony had stopped by the house one evening after her death, not knowing that the little girl was hidden within the depths of the burnt remains of the home and had sat in his car for a few minutes as he wondered what went wrong. He found himself blaming himself for the death of the female director and wondering what he could have done differently so that they could have had a different outcome. Of course dwelling on the past simply made him feel worse and didn't help matters at all. It didn't help him. It didn't help her. It didn't help the child sleeping in the cold either.

One night, the little girl had witnessed a gothic styled woman in high heel shoes step out of a hearse before laying a black rose on the doorstep of the home. She couldn't hear what the woman had said but could see she was upset. She ducked down just in time when Abby looked up. Abby had looked confused at the house, before shaking her head and deciding that she had simply seen a cat or something move. She didn't think for a moment that a child could be hiding in the darkened corners of the burnt home.

McGee had stopped by briefly on the way back to his home two nights after the director had been killed, he looked up to the woman and was proud to be part of the agency with her as his boss. It was in that moment that he decided to dedicate his next book to the woman who had encouraged him.

As Jethro had driven away, Ziva had noticed his car and slowed down slightly until he was out of sight. She didn't want anyone to see her so vulnerable. She stopped her car outside of the burnt down home and sighed heavily, her fingers twirling the necklace that hung around her neck. Her golden Star of David, it had been given to her by Jennifer Shepard when she had lost her original necklace in Cairo.

The little girl heard another car and this time ignored it, curling up into herself a little more than she had been already. She shivered from the cold and closed her bright eyes.

Ziva was frustrated with herself, blaming herself for the death of her best friend and boss. She had spent hours contemplating how things could have been different, what she could have done differently, what she could have done to save the woman or how she could have taken the bullets herself rather than Jen. Tears streamed down her face as she hit her head against the steering wheel in front of her, sobbing. Jen's death was hitting her much harder than she felt she could tell anyone.

Jen had been like family to Ziva, the closest she had to one. Her father was evil and manipulative, her mother had died when she was young, her sister had died too and she wasn't particularly close to any other member of her family. Jen however had quickly become a close friend to her during their mission in Egypt but over the years had become more like family, they told each other everything and anything.

She opened the door to her car and put her legs out, remaining sat on the driver's seat as she looked at what had been the house.

_Jen laughed as she sat on the sofa, a glass of wine in one hand and her other hand on the soft blanket that lay over her lap. _

_Ziva had a huge grin on her face as she looked at the woman, "I am not kidding", she said softly with the smile in place, "He actually tried to kiss me". She herself was also quite amused by this. _

_The red headed woman shook her head, "Did he really think you liked him like that?"_

_The Israeli woman shrugged, "He must have done, otherwise why would he have tried to do it?". _

_Director Shepard shook her head, "Well if he tries again, lie and just tell him you only like women", the woman suggested with a wink and devilish grin. _

_Ziva laughed, "That would probably get him even more interested, you know what he's like"_

She found herself smiling slightly at the memory, it had been a week before her death and the last time that she was in the home with the Director.

Ziva got out of her car and closed the door before she walked towards the house. She stood in the doorway, it felt weird not to be able to knock on the door, or use her key to gain access. She didn't use her key very often but it had always been an option for her as it had been Jen's idea. They had a key to each other's homes in case of emergency.

She paused and looked around before she stepped into the mess of dark charred wood. She took a few steps in and knelt down, lifting up a scrap of paper that she recognised as the photo that had sat on a table in her hallway and smiled at the memory it provoked. The photo was of Jen and Ziva together, their heads were pressed together with both looking at the camera. It had been taken at the bar on Jen's birthday the previous year. The thought that there would be no more birthdays triggered tears to cascade down her tanned cheeks.

The little girl had heard someone get out of their car and walk into the house, she was standing up on top of some wood, about half way up the stairs so she could sneak her head out of the top to see who it was and what they were doing in the house.

Ziva held the photo in her hand as she stepped through the house, remembering how it had been like and remembering various things they had done together in the house from watching movies to drinking with friends.

The little one slipped from her position where she was balanced, the charred wood cracking beneath her and it sent her to the ground of the basement quickly and far from silently. She let out a scream as she fell to the concrete below as the wood crumbled around her and some of the wood from above fell in.

She lay like a rag doll on the ground, her clothing was dirty, her hair a mess of red and her bright blue eyes closed. For a moment, her world was silent.


End file.
